


strikethrough

by Anonymous



Series: the home boys [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 10:19:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10304612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “These things happen. That’s how the universe wanted it to be,” the family doctor told them, and he knew that he was right. Zhenya wasn’t upset or sad, because the universe sometimes did things that were inexplicable.or 8 times Sidney apologised and 3 times Geno did, in no specific order.





	

**Author's Note:**

> today's my birthday!!! so here's my gift to you.
> 
> i've been writing this shit since august 25th, wrote it three times, and finally finished it. i'm kind of proud of myself tbh. anyway, this starts from the 2012-2013 lockout season and continues from there; i want you to know that i made hockey-reference.com my home for this fic ok.
> 
> hope you enjoy this!!  
> yell at me in tumblr if you want i'm **[@speaksarcastically](http://speaksarcastically.tumblr.com/)**

Soulmates are inexplicable.

The name tattooed on the wrist will be something that will accompany you from birth until death. In other cases, they will appear when the other soulmate is born, or multiple ones will appear, or some people won’t have any.

Yet, they never fade.

That’s something Zhenya learned when he was young.

He came home after practice and went straight into the kitchen, the smell of his mother’s cooking hitting his nose as soon as he entered the door. Zhenya kissed her cheek and was about to eat a piece of carrot when his mother stopped him suddenly. Her hand was on his son arm, her eyes looking at his wrist intensely.

The name of his soulmate –the carefully handwritten Valya, the sweet name he had been inked into his skin since birth, had been strikethrough. Her thumb rubbed against his skin and her mouth was open, ready to tell him why he had done that, but the mark didn’t go away.

Zhenya still remembered how his mother’s voice broke when calling for his father.

That’s how he learned how soulmate marks never fade.

The visited consultants and doctors, and Zhenya got tired of the sour and apologetic tone coming out of their mouths. They didn’t have to repeat, over and over again, that their memories would become his in form of dreams, because that happens when your soulmate _dies_. He got tired of seeing his mother’s face whenever they told them that they couldn’t do anything.

“ _These things happen. That’s how the universe wanted it to be_ ,” the family doctor told them, and he knew that he was right. Zhenya wasn’t upset or sad, because the universe sometimes did things that were inexplicable.

Zhenya didn’t know who Valya was, and maybe that’s why their death didn’t hit him as hard. He didn’t cry, he didn’t sulk –he didn’t know them. He didn’t know if they were blond or brunette, with blue or brown eyes, if they were Russian; Zhenya didn’t even know who was behind the mark: a Valentina or a Valentin, who knew.

It was almost a month after their death when Valya’s memories came, and at first, clear and sharp.

Valya’s house was old and small, but Zhenya could feel the coziness on it. He dreamt about Valya’s long and tired walks, of their favourite dessert (peach _varenye_ , that their _babushka_ made), and of the way they would breathe deeply whenever it rained.

He enjoyed those dreams, but after a while they became blurred and almost impossible to focus on: memories of winter snow under barefoot feet, of tiny hands holding a red and white fabric, of a laugh that was bright and full of life along with voices he couldn’t understand, of summer skin kissing pale skin.

“ _Have you dreamt of their death_?” Zhenya turned around, looking at Sasha on the stall next to him, the bright national Russia team jersey almost blinding him. Zhenya shook his head. “ _Sergei’s soulmate still does. You’re lucky._ ”

(After many drunk talks in the middle of the night with Sasha, where he told him about how he saw Sergei’s soulmate fainting when his brother died, how there were marks on her body that were a mirror of his, how he cried, how it hurt–

Zhenya felt relief for a moment, thinking that maybe Valya died quietly and without pain.)

“ _Are some memories blurry_?” He asked and Sasha looked at him and shook his head, spitting out that they were all very vivid. Sasha sighed and left the locker room, Zhenya following shortly.

When Zhenya started to become better at hockey, the more he hid Valya under a black wristband, burying it beneath his gloves and the memories under his own thoughts and worries. He wondered if it was wrong but he couldn’t get stuck in the past, a new world of opportunities was opening right in front of him.

The soft handwritten and strikethrough Valya sometimes burned against his skin. 

 

-

 

Sidney was the only person that didn’t said anything about Zhenya’s soulmate mark.

Even after their first meeting, after they won the Stanley Cup, after the concussion and the injuries; even after all those times, he never questioned the black wristband or asked about Zhenya’s soulmate. At first he thought that maybe Sid understood, that maybe he had a strikethrough name under his own black wristband, or maybe he had none; but, it was quite the opposite.

Zhenya had never seen someone wear their soulmate mark as proudly as Sid did. The way he touched the wristband before a game, as if he was asking them for luck, and the way he smiled whenever the team started talking about their own soulmates, as if he was daydreaming about them: Sidney was in love with his soulmate. He wasn’t sure how that felt, to love your soulmate. He couldn’t say he loved Valya for sure, but there was a soft spot for them on his heart.

After the Easter Conference finals, Zhenya found himself standing in an empty hallway at four in the morning outside of Sid’s room. He was tired, upset that they had lost against to the _fucking_ Bruins. He knew that Sid was awake, the adjacent rooms and the thin walls letting him listen to Sid walking around. Usually he wouldn’t go so soon after a game to talk to Sid, both of them basking in the loss, the plays going around their heads as if they were ghosts haunting them. Sincerely, he felt like shit because he played like shit and that made them lose the chance to win the Cup.

He wanted to see Sid, to know that everything was alright.

It didn’t take long for Sid to open the door after Zhenya knocked. Sidney looked tired.

“You look bad,” Zhenya said without hesitation and Sid just huffed, smiling softly. He knew it was a good sign coming from his captain, that they were good, no hard feelings against each other and that, after a long summer, they will be fine.

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” Sid answered back and walked into the room, the door wide open as an invitation. Zhenya replied with _I’m hot_ that Sid probably didn’t hear and closed the door behind him, walking to the unused bed beside Sid’s. It wasn’t a surprise to find the game playing on the TV, muted, and Zhenya wondered if he watched it like that so he wouldn’t hear the commentators talking trash about him or the team.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the puck going around the rink, hitting their sticks, the Bruin’s goal repeating mockingly in different angles. Losing four to zero in an important game hurt, it stung, but they couldn’t fight the universe, maybe it wasn’t meant for them to win this year.

Zhenya thought that Sid had fallen asleep but the other man sat in bed as if he just read the thought passing through his brain. His captain stared at his soulmate mark for a moment and Zhenya realized that he didn’t have the black wristband on.

There he saw, for the first time, the bold but clear handwritten name, with perfect calligraphy: Ava.

“After bad games, or a rough season, she soothes me.” It was a mumble, almost as if he was talking to himself, but loud enough for Zhenya to understand. “She appeared one year after I was born.”

With his eyes still glued to the mark, Zhenya moved and sat leaning towards Sid. “You love her?”

Sid took a deep breath before looking at his teammate and shrugging. “I do. Most people say it’s weird.”

“Weird?” Zhenya now looked back at Sidney, frown on his face.

He huffed and shrugged. “I don’t know her, we have never met, but I love her.”

Zhenya took a sharp breath, feeling his eyebrows going up in surprise. Sidney kept surprising him even after years of friendship, for sure. They were in silence for a moment before Zhenya said something. “Why you not meet? Pay someone to find,” but Sidney shook his head, even before he finished asking. “Do not want to meet?”

“I, I do. It’s just–” he sighed before falling back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want to push it. I will meet her, eventually. I just want the story to play at its own rhythm, you know? Let the universe do its work.”

“Romantic Sid,” Zhenya said and both of them chuckled softly, before falling into silence once again. His hand hovered over his wristband before taking it off, starting at Valya. “I know what you mean,” he said before looking at Sidney, who was looking back at him curiously but with a soft expression on his face. He lifted his hand and showed him the strikethrough Valya that decorated his skin. “Soulmate died years ago.”

Sidney took a sharp breath, just as Zhenya did before, and he suddenly looked sick, as if he just imagined Ava dying. “I’m very sorry, G.”

“Not your fault, okay?” He shrugged, his thumb rubbing Valya’s name like his mother did years before. “Never meet, never fall in love. It’s ok, Sid.” Sidney just nodded and it was a few minutes later when they both said goodnight.

On his room, Zhenya caught Valya’s name on the corner of his eye and, somehow, his chest felt lighter.

Summer went and came as quickly as it possible could, the sour taste lingering on his mouth whenever he remembered that the Blackhawks had won the Stanley Cup after six games. Yet, when the training camp started, the energy of the new season was building up and he could feel it running in his veins. The pre-season was good, and the season started with a better feeling than last one –less rushed and with a steady pace–. His ears were listening to the prayer-like murmur of _this is our year_ through Consol’s hallways and his eyes were fixed on the possible Stanley Cup in a near future. But, something kept him looking at Sidney.

Whenever he was on the ice, with the puck on his stick or not, Zhenya’s heart would want to burst out of his chest because, well, he might as well be falling in love with his captain’s way of playing hockey. The problem was that he couldn’t take his eyes off of him, and even out of the ice he found himself more than once lying in bed, wondering what changed.

Zhenya talked to Sasha sometimes, asking him if it was wrong to like someone whose love was reserved only to their soulmate. He laughed loudly but called after Zhenya hung up, apologizing before actually giving him advice. Zhenya wondered if it was Nicky’s advice but he appreciated it still.

More than once he started at Sidney’s C that he wore proudly on his chest and thought about his own A. He wondered if, if he ever had the opportunity, he could make his captain happy in a similar way Nicky made Sasha happy –and otherwise, because the way Sasha looked at Nicky was something that Zhenya yearned.

Hypothetical thoughts danced around his head and closed eyes at night, before falling asleep. He looked at Valya, guilt building on his chest, but he traced their name with his thumb, thinking of the way Sidney did it with his own: with love, carefully.

Sometimes, when the crisp or blurred memories didn’t surface, he dreamed about being Sid’s soulmate: he dream it was Cyrillic letters sewn into that pale skin of his wrist, occupying the space that Ava had taken, both of his skin and heart. He dreamed about soft smiles and warm eyes looking at him, a love reserved only to him.

And he wondered what it would be like to feel a soulmate’s love.

 

-

 

The first games of the season passed quickly.

March rolled around and their first game was against the Blackhawks. Zhenya couldn’t help but feel excitement building up inside: playing against the Stanley Cup champions always felt good. It would be a lie if Zhenya didn’t say that the building (the _fucking_ _sold out stadium, snowed in, holy–)_ looked as if it was about to burst, with too much red and black making him feel dizzy.

They lost five to one and Zhenya could feel that sting from last year appearing on his skin.

Dan talked to them with that disappointed and fatherly look, making them hung their heads lower. His words shushed the locker room to a state of quietness that was strange from them. On their flight to Nashville, Sid stood up and walked around the place, his voice calm but strong, full with confidence, soothing in a way that was only his. Zhenya swore that, by the time they landed, the echo of _this is our year_ came back. They were even louder when they won three to one against the Predators that night.

The end of March was right around the corner and that meant their next game against the defending champions once again. By that time, they were leading the Metropolitan division, with some wins and losses here and there, but with good spirits. They wanted revenge from last time, they wanted to score points and show them that they were good, that they were Stanley Cup champion _good_.

This time around they were playing at home and Zhenya always felt that their fans cheered louder than any other crowd, but maybe he was a little biased.

The locker room was alive, people going from one side to another, sticks and tapes on hand. Zhenya was putting on his skates when he caught Duper walking towards Sid, who was lost in thought.

“Are you ok, squid?” Duper asked, with a fatherly tone slipping onto his question. He said something else that Zhenya couldn’t get to hear since Flower was chirping Nealer from the other side of the room. Instead, he caught Sid’s half smile and a shrug.

When they were going out to the ice and Zhenya leaned to do his handshake with Sidney, he felt how his captain’s touch lingered a few more seconds than usual, how his hand was pulling towards himself with more determination, how their helmets clinked when they collided. Without thinking, the words _be careful_ ran out of Zhenya’s mouth, the Russian slipping out of his tongue without wanting to.

Sidney just nodded, as if he understood and walked towards the ice. His eighty seven started back at him on the way out, the same way Valya’s name did, and he felt a strange sensation building on his chest. Yet, by the time his skates hit the ice and the roar of the home crowd was strident on his hears, the sensation was buried under the ice and hung up the banners.

By the second period, they were leading by one point.

Zhenya was returning from his shift and sat on the bench, leaning forward against the boards to watch the puck fly on the ice. He was listening to Dan, who was yelling behind him, but it faded under the yells of his own teammates as Flower made _another_ amazing save.

It didn’t take long for Sid to get the puck on his stick and Zhenya’s mind took a while to return to the game.

Sid was dancing with the puck, his skates flying and trying to get it out of their zone, feeling Flower’s eyes following him around. After a quick pass, Kuni sent it to the other side. A flash of white and black suddenly passed in front of the bench, the sounds of the skates on the ice loud on his ears, and Zhenya was on the edge of his seat at the possibility of burying the puck into the net.

In hockey, you expect things: hits, fights, goals, cheers. You expect weird things too because you never know what the hockey gods will do.

Yet, you never expect _this_ kind of thing to happen to anyone.

Zhenya saw, in the corner of his eye, how someone collapsed at the other end of the ice.

When he looked, Sidney was lying on his side, motionless.

Before Zhenya stood up and reacted, everyone around him was already doing so.

There were gasps coming from the crowd that Zhenya didn’t hear because Dan was calling out loudly for the medical team. Flower didn’t think twice before kneeling next to Sidney, his mask off and frown deep on his face. Duper was throwing things into the ice, calling out the attention of the officials.

The whistle was blown so many times that Zhenya lost count.

He didn’t remember standing up from the bench or his stick falling onto the floor, but, as soon as he got up and looked at the end of the rink, it felt as if everything became louder. The echo of _this is our year_ suddenly became frenetic yells of _Sidney, what’s happening, captain, someone get help_ , and he felt sick seeing both medical teams, the doctors, the paramedics and their stretcher appearing into his line of vision.

The loudness quickly died down and the crowd was silent, as if the stands were suddenly empty.

Zhenya didn’t want to take his eyes off of Sidney, even when it was difficult seeing him under the sea of people.

Tanger was kneeling next to Flower at the goal, both silent, eyes fixed on Sidney not a few feet away from them. Kuni was right there, leaning on his stick with wide eyes, looming over the quick-working paramedics and doctors.

Duper was standing beside Zhenya on the bench, and Nealer leaning on the boards, looking quite pale.  He heard a voice ask about what had happened, concern on his words –Zhenya would later realized that it had been Toews– and he just listened to Duper’s voice, pausing as if he was trying to keep his composure. The conversation went on about what had happened weeks before with Peverly in Dallas, and similar ones like Pavelec and Fischer.

Valya suddenly burned under his glove and Zhenya wasn’t sure if this was like _those_ incidents.

(The fear, the confusion about what’s going on, and the concern for the player were probably similar to those incidents, Zhenya didn’t doubt that).

Olli was sitting beside him, surrounded by a standing bench, and Zhenya didn’t realize how pale the young boy was, looking smaller, with the helmet sitting on his legs. Sutter tried to coax him into the idea that everything will be fine, but the exchange of words made Zhenya froze.

“What if it’s Sid’s soulmate?”

“What do you mean?”

“They say that when a soulmate dies, the other can feel it and–”

“Let’s not think like that now, ok?”

Olli just nodded, took a quick and sharp breath, and kept looking towards the other side of the rink.

It was the longest minutes of Zhenya’s life and he had lived through some stressful moments himself.

When they finally got Sidney onto the stretcher –motionless, eyes closed–, the standing ovation that the crowd gave him was deafening. Consol was not only loud because of the fan’s cheers, or their hands clapping, or them hitting the glass, but it was loud because along with them were his teammates and rivals, hitting their sticks against the ice and the boards.

Everything was loud.

There was a shift as soon as Sidney disappeared and Zhenya wondered if they could keep playing.

(They could, physically speaking. Zhenya wasn’t sure if they mentally could.

They just saw their captain collapse onto the ice without explanation, without a previous hit or a fight in between. If that wasn’t scary enough, the confused faces of the medical team must have been enough to scare all of them for a lifetime).

They played and won four to one, but the victory wasn’t sweet.

The locker room was as quiet as it was the night they played against the Blackhawks at the start of the month. PR told them that, because of the circumstances, press wasn’t allowed into the room and Zhenya felt thankful. He wasn’t sure he could manage enough English to answer the questions about what happened, or if all of them could answer them straight faced –Brooks was breathing deeply with his eyes closed, as if he was trying to pass a wave of nausea, and he could see Beau’s hands shaking.

Usually, everyone would be quick in getting out of there as soon as Dan talked to them. But tonight, the team moved slowly and almost tiptoed around each other, some of them lost in thought. The rookies didn’t take their eyes off Sid’s stall and others were just looking at their phones, probably sending texts to their soulmates or their loved ones.

Zhenya’s phone found itself in his hands, notifications of missed calls and unopened messages appearing on the screen. Most of them were from his Russian friends around the league, but the ones that caught his attention were Sasha’s _Позвони_ _мне_ _,_ followed by Nicky’s _call Alex, I’m sorry,_ and one coming from Gonch asking him how he was.

Dan entered the room a few minutes later, and the first thing that came out of his mouth was that Sidney was stable, made it alright to the hospital, and that he would keep them posted on his condition. Zhenya heard the audible group exhale, just as if they held their breath all this time. Dan also gave them a quick review that everyone tried to pay attention to, and reminded them that they were playing the Hurricanes in two days, and they would have tomorrow free.

After he dismissed them, everything was a blur.

Zhenya, at one moment, was sitting on his stall looking at the phone on his hands and, after some hands moved him and people talked to him and asked him questions, he found himself sitting on an uncomfortable hospital chair looking at the phone on his hands.

The hospital waiting room they were lead to was empty beside them. There was a small and old TV whose buttons were faded and some books that seemed like no one touched, maybe because some of them were in other languages.

Duper and Kuni were sitting in front of him, exhausted expression on their faces. Flower and Tanger were sitting on the chairs on his left, exchanging soft words in their mother languages that he couldn’t really understand but soothed him anyway. They were all tired, no doubt, they probably wanted to go home and kiss their soulmates wives and their kids and just sleep, sleep this off as if nothing ever happened.

But they were here, worried and waiting to know anything.

Zhenya’s heart wanted to burst because that’s what good friends do, and he was glad Sidney had them.

Everything was a blur but the world seemed to focus when Mario appeared.

Duper got up from his chair when he saw him walking towards them, his steps echoing on the linoleum floor. Mario pushed him down onto the chair again, hand on his shoulder. He sat down beside him and leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped.

From that angle, he could see the golden and beautiful Nathalie on Mario’s wrist.

“It was a heart attack”, was the first thing he said and paused, as if he was expecting something from them. Kuni took a deep breath before he ran his hand over his face. “At least they think it was that. He was probably felt discomforts before the game started but it didn’t hit until the worst happened.”

Tanger and Flower exchanged glance before the later talked, sharp notes on his voice.

“They _think?_ They don’t _know_ what happened, what’s wrong with him?”

Mario looked at them before talking again, his eyes looking at the floor. “It’s difficult since the symptoms didn’t actually present on his body,” and Zhenya suddenly understood, when Mario’s fingers tugged his sleeve to hide Nathalie’s name.

“His soulmate,” Tanger mumbled before all of them shifted on his seats, mumbling curses under his breath. “Is she okay, she’s in the hospital? Or he, or them, I don’t know.” He stuttered words full with worry.

Mario didn’t say anything and Zhenya just saw how he shrugged.

He saw how his teammates looked at each other with wild eyes, as if they didn’t understand.

“Ava,” Zhenya started, getting the attention of everyone present. “Sid never met her.”

That was probably the first and last time he would mention Sid’s soulmate name aloud because she was _dead,_ she died and Sidney felt her die and –oh god. The guys turned to him, alarmed expression on their faces before searching for confirmation on Mario’s.

“They think it was a heart attack by the suddenness of it and how his body reacted afterwards.” He said, talking with pauses and slowly. “They think she died because of some sort of accident, the bruises didn’t appear until he was here.”

Duper got up from his seat and started walking, his hands covering his mouth. Kuni mumbled _bruises, oh my god_ that echoed even louder than supposed to. Zhenya listened to the québécois curses, too. He didn’t dare to say anything else because he was lost looking at the strikethrough Valya and he felt as if it was looking at him, as if it was saying _this is everything you asked for_.

Guilt began to pool on his chest.

Kuni leaned forward, lips on a thin line. “Will he be fine?”

Mario moved his head in a so-so motion, lips mirroring Kuni’s. “Physically, he will need time to cure some bruised ribs but yes. In the other hand,” he slowed down. “I don’t know when… or if he will ever heal from this.” Zhenya understood the unspoken words of _I don’t know how he would deal with the fact that his soulmate, the person he learned to love and never met, died; I’m not sure how he will cope._

Kuni opened and closed his mouth, as if he was trying to find the rights words, but Mario understood.

“He knows. It seemed like he knew before everyone else.”

Mario’s eyes seemed to become glassy and Zhenya would later learn that, when Sidney finally regained consciousness, he woke up crying and it wasn’t because he was in physical pain.

It was almost two in the morning when Mario told them to go home, and that unleashed a back and forth of questions: if his parents knew ( _yes),_ if someone called Taylor ( _yes),_ if he hit his head when he went down ( _he did but it’s nothing to worry about_ ), and if he was alone and if they could go a quick visit before leaving ( _Nathalie is with him, you can visit him tomorrow. Now, go and rest)._

The cold breeze hit Zhenya’s cheeks when they left the hospital, and everything was a blur once again. The ride back to Consol was in a tortuous silence and, when it was time to say goodnight and part, they gave each other warm hugs, hands lingering more than usual.

The drive back was cold, and when he closed the front door behind himself, Zhenya wondered if he could die suffocated in his own feelings.

The guilt was making him almost unable to breathe or to see straight, and he didn’t dare to fix his eyes on Valya.

He realized that his phone was ringing and, when he saw, Sasha’s face was bright on the screen.

“ _Zhenya,”_ was the first thing he heard Sasha said after accepting the call. “ _Are you okay?”_

Sasha lulled a sense of comfort with his Russian and, even when he wasn’t the most calming person, they talked. They talked about anything and everything, about home, hockey, and Zhenya thought that maybe he felt the guilt slipping away between quiet laughs. The only time Sasha mentioned Sid was before hanging up, a quick “ _Is Sidyuska going to be alright?”_

Zhenya answered yes, and Sasha just hummed in the other side of the line.

When he finally hung up, he stared at his phone before sending a quick _спасибо_ to Sasha, along with some quick texts to Nicky and Gonch, leaving all of the other resting there, unopened.

He didn’t realize he had hit his parent’s phone number until his mother’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, calling him softly in the same way that Sasha did moments before. “ _Zhenya,”_ but this time, everything came crashing down onto him. He felt tears on his eyes and he felt stupid, he didn’t cry for Valya but he’s crying for Ava? He should be ashamed.

He wasn’t really crying for Ava, he would notice hours later when he sat beside the hospital bed, but for Sid.

“ _Zhenya,”_ she called again.

He leaned against the countertop of the kitchen, one hand holding the phone to his hear and the other pressed against his chest, as if he was trying to push everything down, avoiding their escape. “ _Mama.”_

“ _Are you okay, Zhenya?”_ Maybe he broke down in a way he must have done years ago when Valya died, or when he lost games, when they won the cup, when he felt so homesick that not even his mother’s frozen food or his father’s voice over the phone could soothe. He cried in a way he didn’t remember doing on his life.

His mother listened to him, shushing and whispering just the right words, not asking for explanation.

Zhenya couldn’t thank his mother enough for her existence.

It was six in the morning when his phone buzzing returned him to reality.

He had been lying down on his bed since he finished the call with his mother, dozing off and waking up jolting, as if he felt himself falling on his sleep.

Zhenya took his phone and saw that Flower linked an article to him of a Washington’s newspaper.

 _Crash kills one person and leaves three injured on I-395._ Zhenya’s fingers hovered over the title before reading the rest and he felt sick as soon as he saw the name. _Ava Dunn, 26, died– lost control– heart attack– late last night– soulmate name’s Sidney–_

(He closed the page and ran to the bathroom, dry heaving.

Her name will be always burned into his mind.)

 

-

 

He was back in the hospital as soon as it started to brighten outside, even when the morning light dazzled him.

Mario pushed him inside the room and Zhenya’s eyes instinctively fell on Sid.

He was asleep, lying on his side, and he couldn’t help but get memories of last night, how small he looked on the ice, and how small he looked right there on the hospital bed.

Zhenya sat down on the chair that was where Mario probably spent the night, watching over Sidney as if it was his own son. He observed Sid’s sleeping form, how still he was, how younger he seemed, how his features softened when he didn’t have his hockey gear on. His eyes wandered over his skin and observed the purple and green bruises on his arm, some of them appearing under his sleeve.

“How do you know you meet soulmate?”

“You get a hunch. You just know,” Mario said, standing at the foot of the bed, his hands on the plastic railing. Zhenya nodded, looking between him and his captain. Mario nodded, patted his shoulder and told him that he will come back soon but this time, bringing Sidney’s parents along.

It was a while after, Zhenya being a few levels into Candy Crush when he felt someone looking at him. He looked up from his phone and found light brown eyes staring back at him in silence.

For a moment, his mind was pandemonium. What he was supposed to say or do? His friend just lost his soulmate, the soulmate he had fallen in love with, who died only miles away from them. The conflicting thoughts of _tell him_ , _you did fine when yours died_ and _this is different_ , _it’s your fault_ and _it’s not your fault_ were almost dizzying.

The only thought that stood out was that he wasn’t going to treat Sid differently, as if he was a Chinese porcelain piece that would break just looking at it.

He wasn’t sure if all the thoughts that passed through his mind had been expressed on his face but he locked his phone and leaned forward, gentle expression on his face. “ _Привет_ ,” he whispered. Sid smiled tiredly and Zhenya did the same, the hope that everything will be fine blooming on his chest. “How you feel?”

“Everything hurts,” he replied slowly, as if his mouth and his brain were still connecting. His eyes didn’t look away from Zhenya’s. “I’ll be alright.”

“Good,” Zhenya answered back. “Always have bad luck, have to keep eye on captain.” After the words came out of his mouth, he thought that he was being a little rude: a puck to the face and a soulmate dying wasn’t something he could really compare.

Even with that, Sid’s smile widened at his chatter. “I do, don’t I?” He shifted on his bed and exhaled shakily, his ribs probably hurting. “I’ll try not to miss more games. I want to win the Cup again with you, G.”

Zhenya nodded and rested his warm hand on Sid’s arm, thumb caressing a bruise. “I want that, too, Sid.”

After a pause, Sidney hummed in response and, in the moment they spend in silence, Zhenya wondered if he should say something about Ava, if he should tell him about her, but seeing him blinking his eyes slowly, he pushed away the thoughts.

“Sleep again, da? Parents get here soon; team also wants to visit, going to be long day.”

“I’m sorry.” Sidney mumbled and observed him for a moment, as if he was wondering. “Will you stay?”

Zhenya nodded and Sidney nodded back at him, before thanking him softly and closing his eyes. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep again and Zhenya couldn’t help but wonder how much time it would pass before he started dreaming about her death.

It took him a while to realize that he was holding Sid’s hand, his other hand caressing his arm softly.

He didn’t move it away until he heard someone coming in.

After that, Zhenya didn’t see Sid anymore for a few days.

They had been playing on the road, where they won two and lost two. The Winnipeg-Minnesota-Colorado route was tiring, and when it ended, Zhenya was just thankful they had a day off.

He texted Sidney, in time to time. Sometimes it was just sad eyeless faces after a loss, or a _score for captain )))_ , and just things that he thought it would make Sidney smile. In return, Sidney would send back small reviews from their game, _good luck_ before and _good game_ after them.

PR didn’t disclose the cause of Sidney’s collapse, which got the media crazier, speculating about him and why he had been placed on the IR, and who was going to occupy his spot. The other thing is that PR didn’t tell the team either, which made interviews a lot harder, but it wasn’t really necessary: everyone knew what happened and who didn’t, didn’t dare to ask aloud.

The team started working harder and Zhenya felt like he had just travelled a few years back, when Sidney was out having problems with his concussion, leaving everyone wondering when he was going to be able to come back. The chant of _this is our year_ was still there, audible still, but the gentle chorus of _for the captain_ danced around plane seats and hotel hallways.

The next time Zhenya saw Sid, it seemed like he was the only one who noticed his presence.

He walked out of the equipment room after talking to Dana, listening to his teammates laughing in the locker room but it was Stewart’s and Dan’s voices that caught his attention. He looked at the end of the hallway and had to do a double take, noticing Sidney walking towards the medical room slowly, Taylor following behind.

Later at practice, he looked up at the far away stands and he wondered if he was imagining Sidney sitting there, looking down at them with Mario and Taylor next to him.

 _Saw you today_ , he wrote down in a text after he returned home, _saw best Crosby too_. Not a few minutes later, Sidney answered with a _just a quick check up_ followed by a _she says hi :)_ that made Zhenya smile.

It wasn’t until their fifth game against the Blue Jackets when the team saw Sidney again.

They just won three to one and they were riding high. When they walked to the locker room, Sid was sitting on his own stall, suit on, and Zhenya’s heart wanted to explode because _fuck_ , it was so good to actually see him again. The team almost jumped onto him when they saw him, giving him gentle hugs, and Sidney was smiling and laughing, and it seemed like he had never left in the first place.

The press ate Sidney alive, asking about what happened and how he was feeling, but it was noticeable how his shoulders seemed to relax, as if he was thankful for the normality that the reporters brought him.

Sid was going around the room and Zhenya caught Brooks asking if he was alright, _are you coming back to beat the Blue Jacket’s asses?_ In the corner of his eye, Zhenya saw how Flower froze and just stared at them, still on his pads.

“I’m better,” Sid replied, and something on his voice made it believable. “Medical gave me thumbs up for playing in Columbus. If you will have me, of course.” The rookies sitting beside him pushed him jokingly, telling him that they wouldn’t ask for better. Zhenya observed how Duper was watching Sidney, probably thinking that it was way too soon, that a few weeks weren’t enough to cure the _injuries that your soulmate’s death left you_ , but he didn’t say anything.

The locker room was almost empty when Sid walked towards Zhenya, who was busy tapping something on his phone.

“Can you give me a ride?” He asked.

Zhenya nodded, frown on his face before answering _of course give you ride, I’m best driver._ Duper let out a small laugh. “You’re really not,” he said. “Sid, dinner at mine tomorrow? The kids miss you.” Sidney nodded and Duper patted his arm before leaving the locker room.

When Zhenya was picking up his things, Kuni pulled Sidney aside, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and Zhenya was sure he had seen him pull the same move with his kids. “Are you sure you’re fit to play?” He asked quietly and before Sid could open his mouth, Kuni lifted his hand. “I know what the medical team said, but I’m asking if _you_ think you’re fit to play. It must be hard to–”

“Kuni,” Sidney stopped him and he was quiet for a moment, hesitating before talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not perfectly fine but, you know, I’ll be okay. Trust me on this one, Kuni, okay?” The older man nodded and pulled him into a tight hug that made Zhenya look away, feeling as if he was intruding. He waved goodbye and left the locker room.

Zhenya and Sid left soon after.

The ride was full of comfortable silences, something that Zhenya really enjoyed when being with Sid. They shared small talks about upcoming games and the Blue Jacket’s defense and some of the Ranger’s players, about things that didn’t really matter. When he parked in front of Sid’s house, he grabbed Sid’s arm and stopped him before he left the car.

“Can talk about soulmate, anytime. Always here for you, Sid.”

He saw how Sidney blinked a few times, looking at him in silence, before nodding. “Thanks, Geno,” and after that, Sid got out of the car and Zhenya saw him disappear behind the door. He wasn’t sure if Sid just thanked him for the ride or for the offer.

He drove off, remembering that Valya is the one sitting on his wrist and not Sid.

 

-

 

As if nothing ever happened, Sidney returned to the lineup.

They won against Columbus and moved to the next round, against the Rangers.

The chant was back, louder, running through their veins –they were leading two to one, Sidney was playing back with them, they were good, and it felt amazing. The majority of the roster was healthy and the excitement to play was there, the need of win and win and move forward to the win more. The idea of winning the cup again was so wrapped around team’s head that they didn’t notice what was happening to their captain, but Zhenya saw, he always had eyes on Sidney.

He looked tired and, more often than not, he was talking with Stewart. Zhenya wondered if he was starting to dream about Ava’s death but whenever he tried to approach the subject, Sidney started talking about something else or he would say that they needed to worry more about the playoffs. On the ice, the ideas and thoughts were pushed away into the back of their heads: they were coming close of winning and they weren’t going to mess up the opportunity.

Yet, it seemed like Sidney couldn’t really push away all the thoughts.

The third period of the fourth game was passing by even quicker than Zhenya had expected it to be. It was a one point game and Pittsburgh had the lead, and the hopes of everyone were high –if they win this one, then win another one, that was it, they were moving to the conference finals, then the cup finals. It was exciting.

Zhenya was on the ice, receiving the puck from Sid just as soon as he saw a number fourteen flying by, he passed it to Kuni and he scored. The crowd wasn’t as loud but he could hear yelling coming from the boards where he crashed against Kuni, Olli and Niskanen. He noticed that Kuni was looking over his shoulder and that they were missing someone.

When he looked back, at the other side of the goal, Sidney was skating slowly, head low, to the bench where Tanger was halfway out to receive him. As soon as he stepped in, Stewart was pulling him into his arms and Sidney just left himself being led into the visitor’s locker room. Zhenya skated towards the bench, forgetting for a moment that his teammates’ gloves were extended for him to bump.

Sid and Zhenya got the assist on Kuni’s goal but his attention was fixed on the jumbotron, not for the goal, but on the corner of the screen, where he saw one of the Rangers checking Sidney onto the boards –it didn’t look hard and Zhenya knew that Sidney was tougher than that, but the way he got up wasn’t completely ok.

Their captain didn’t go back to the bench even when there were still six minutes on the clock.

They still won four to two, Zhenya got the first star and Sid the third, but he didn’t look up from his skates when Dan announced it. No one mentioned what happened on the ice. It didn’t seem important, Sid looked almost alright and maybe they were trying to be careful because of his head problems, who knew.

Yet, Zhenya could see the flashes of something in Sid’s eyes and he wondered.

The worried was pushed away with the chant of _one more game_ going around the plane back home.

After that, everything was a fucking shit show.

They were suddenly three to one and things started to change for the Rangers, to the point that they won game seven, leaving Pittsburgh illuminated and eliminated. The _this is our year_ disappeared through game six and that left Zhenya a bad taste in the mouth.

The scene was familiar.

Zhenya was standing in an empty hallway at a ridiculous hour in the morning outside of Sid’s room after they were removed from the playoffs. He hated how they played, he hated that they were tired and Niskanen was on the penalty box and the Rangers had the power play and they scored, he hated everything and–

He knocked the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

Sidney looked so different from last year that it pained Zhenya to notice that –he didn’t have the heart to chirp him either. His captain looked tired and much older than last season, as if suddenly years passed through him like a bulldozer. He didn’t say anything and just let Zhenya come in.

As the year before, they sat there, staring at the muted television which was showing them their mistakes, over and over again. Zhenya moved and sat down on the bed facing Sidney, who didn’t even acknowledge his curious eyes.

“I’m sometimes dream about Valya,” he started, his eyes nowhere near his mark but his fingers kept touching her. It’s been a while since he had used his black wristband, even when he could see Sid wearing his. He realized later than it was a parallel image of the year before but everything was so different. “First, dreams clear and colorful, very pretty. Later they are blurry and hard to see, but still pretty.”

That caught Sid’s interest and he was looking straight into this eyes.

“You dream of Ava?”

It took Sidney a while to say something, but when he did, his voice sounded so firm that it scared Zhenya.

“She’s dead. I don’t care about her memories,” that sentence blindsided Zhenya because, of all things, this? He just didn’t care? They looked at each other in the eyes in silence and, before Zhenya could say anything else, Sidney was already wishing him goodnight and Zhenya was getting out of the hotel room.

They did their last day of media and they returned to normalcy.

Zhenya took a plane to Russia sooner than expected –after he heard about Dan, about Ray, about how they were going to get a new staff– and, when the game five of the Stanley Cup Final happened, something inside him was happy that the Rangers didn’t win the cup. Returning to his homeland always made him feel better and he did his best to shake off the season on his shoulders, distracting himself with family, food, friends, outings and training.

A few weeks into his summer, he woke up with the sound of his phone ringing. Zhenya didn’t even look at his phone before answering with a _да_? that probably sounded way too unfriendly. The line was silent for a moment and Zhenya thought that maybe it was Sasha being an idiot, again, but he felt himself wake up when he heard Sid’s voice. “Hey, did I wake you up?”

“Sid,” he said, moving on the bed before lying on his back, hand running through his hair. “Yes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, it is ok.” Zhenya cursed the English language that seemed to get stuck between his brain and his tongue every time he visited Russia. He took a moment to look at his phone and opened the clock app, seeing that in was nine in the morning in Moscow and _one in the morning_ in Cole Harbor. “You no sleep, Sid?”

“I had a nightmare.” He hummed and Zhenya could hear Sid huffing before talking again, where he noticed the guilty tone slipping in. “I’m sorry, I feel so stupid calling you because of that. I–”

“No, not stupid. _Очень_ _умно_ _._ I tell you, always here for you.” _If you want to talk about soulmate, or not –always here._

Even with thousands of miles between them, Zhenya felt Sidney smile through the phone. “Thank you.”

After that, Zhenya asked him if he wanted to talk about the nightmare, and Sid hesitated before mumbling pieces here and there, describing the overall pain he felt and the hard car crash that made him jolt awake. Zhenya had seen some awful hockey injuries and didn’t react to them, but just thinking about what Sid was describing to him, he felt somewhat sick.

“What happen in game four? After Kuni score,” Zhenya found himself asking.

Sidney sighed. “Hagelin checked me, his elbow went into my ribs and I, and I got a memory of the crash.”

“Sorry, Sid,” he mumbled back.

“It’s not your fault, G,” he said, even though Zhenya felt like it was. “Besides, I don’t remember much after I wake up. I just, you know, feel it.” Zhenya hummed under his breath and nodded, even when he knew that Sid couldn’t see him. “I kind of blame me that we lost.”

He sighed again because, well, of course he blamed himself. He always did. “Not your fault.”

There was silence. “It was. I was thinking too much about everything and I didn’t focus on the game, I didn’t focus on the team like a leader should, we needed more captainship that I didn’t give you guys and–”

“Sid,” Zhenya interrupted him and Sidney stopped talking. “Say is not your fault, is true. You ask team, ask anyone if want, yes? Not your fault.”

The silence was so long and the answer so soft, that Zhenya thought that maybe Sidney had fallen asleep. “Yeah, okay.” Zhenya sighed, again. “Did it hurt?”

“Losing playoffs?”

“No,” he said. “When Valya died, did it hurt?”

The name of his soulmate in Sidney’s tongue was almost as weird as himself saying Ava aloud, it sounded foreign. He shifted on the bed, leaning heavily against the headboard. “No. Died in silence, never dream of death.” Zhenya paused, listening to Sid’s soft hum. “What your soulmate like? Valya like peaches.”

With the question, Sidney _laughed._ It was quiet and gentle, nice to Zhenya’s surprised ears, but wet and he wondered if he had been crying.

“You won’t believe it.”

“What?”

“She had a Flyer’s jersey.”

Zhenya laughed because, of course she did. “Flyers fan, maybe big Giroux fan.”

The comments made Sidney laugh again, louder and wetter this time. “God, I hope not.” There was a pause and Zhenya wanted to chirp him again, but Sidney talked and what worried him was that he sounded so _distant._ “She was gorgeous. She had brown hair, green eyes, lot of freckles too.”

Both of them were quiet, Zhenya because he didn’t know what to say, and he wondered if he should tell Sidney that he knew her name: Ava Dunn. That he knew, that Mario knew, that half of their friends and teammates knew.

“Did you know how Valya looked like?”

Zhenya started to think that maybe he wasn’t the best person to talk about this with, since he didn’t know anything about it, he didn’t even mourn his soulmate’s passing. “No, not know. Know hands and fingers but never face, Valya’s memories are blur.”

“You mentioned that before, some are blurry and some of them are clear. It’s happening to me, too.”  Zhenya replied with a hum, asking himself if maybe it was normal. There was silence, as if Sidney was closing his eyes and reaching for a memory that wasn’t his. “Most of them are cold, sometimes there’s hockey and sometimes I hear Russian.”

“Maybe dream with old hockey story?” He asked, making Sidney huff.

“I guess.” There was silence. “Thank you, G.”

“Thank you?”

“Yeah. You’re good.” A small pause. “I wish you were my soulmate, you know? You make me feel at ease.”

Zhenya froze and took a deep breath, away from the phone. He wanted to stop himself but his mouth was already betraying him.

“I wish that, too, Sid.”

And that wasn’t a lie.

The worst part is that he wished that Sid was his soulmate, that anything of this wouldn’t have happened and that maybe, in other universe, they would be happy from the first day. “That’s good, G,” he mumbled, then let out a yawn, reminding Zhenya that it was probably too early over there and Sidney should probably go back to sleep. They said goodbyes without hurry, soft thank yous and I’m sorrys that they reserved for each other.

When they finally hung up, Zhenya lied on his best, mind thinking and heart running, a strange sensation on his chest.

It took him weeks to shrug it off.

(Then Sasha asked about Sidney–

And his mother asked about Sid–

And Anna, of all people, asked about him–

 And Zhenya fell on the sensation all over again).

 

-

 

Coming back for the season was supposed to feel right but the sense of normalcy was thrown away.

Suddenly it wasn’t Ray or Dan, it was Mike and Jim, and who are these people? Zhenya respected them and listened to them and did what the coach wanted them to do but it felt wrong. No one was having trouble getting used to the new changes, at least on the ice and inside the building, but outside of the rink, there was sort of a bad taste when it came to talking to the changes.

Zhenya noticed how it was affecting Sidney too.

He was a guy that was built up around routines and suddenly noticing that their normalcy was gone, it was strange, it threw him off. Also, most of the guys who were let off had won the Cup with them. Weirdly enough, between them, they were more than alright: there were smiles and soft talks, gentle touches that were way too friendly, and sometimes they made Zhenya dizzy.

The season started fine, they were winning more than losing, and that was alright.

But everyone started falling, either ill or injured. Zhenya felt like it was every game when someone would start to feel sick and, the next thing he knew, they lost five or ten games –and it was probably the mumps.

He missed a few games and so did Sidney.

After that they barely talked anymore.

It wasn’t a drastic change, but Zhenya would notice the absence of Sidney’s touches and the unanswered text messages. Their conversations became mundane, Sidney barely answered to Zhenya’s questions. 

Even when some guys returned, the season was still awful, and sometimes Zhenya felt ashamed of playing with the Pittsburgh Penguins logo on his chest, the A sewn on his chest weighting. More than once, he found himself shooting glances to Sidney, wondering if the C on his felt like an anvil.

The thing is, weirdly enough, they managed to get to the playoffs.

Their victory was exciting. They were playing in Buffalo and the two times they managed to score, their own screams were louder than the booing of the crowd. Sutter was riding high, he was on fire, pushing two into the net, breaking their five game losing streaks, making them go to the playoffs and it was great.

It didn’t take long before Zhenya was back to standing in front of Sidney’s hotel room. The Rangers had beaten their ass, again, one round and then it was over. They only managed to score a win in six games, not even getting closer of a possible chance.

Zhenya had many things on his head, mostly trying to shake off the furious tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes, but mainly that he wanted to talk to Sidney, he wanted to know how he was. A year had pass since Ava died, but it felt like yesterday, because Sidney still didn’t managed to look at his own soulmate mark like he did before.

He was about to knock when the door opened suddenly, Sidney was almost walking against him.

They looked, as if he was trying to figure out what to say to each other, after all those months without having a proper exchange of words besides hockey talk. “I’m going for a walk, sorry,” Sidney said, closed the door behind him, and left Zhenya standing on the hallway.

Zhenya went to his room and slept dreamlessly.

 

-

 

_Come by?_

Zhenya had been staring at the message for the past two minutes, standing in the same place.

He had been packing everything he needed, since he was leaving tomorrow morning, when his phone beeped with a new text: it was Sidney. They haven’t managed to talk to each other properly and Zhenya thought he was going to leave it like that until they came back for camp.

_Ok._

He didn’t mean to text that back but before he knew, he was driving to Sidney’s house.

The door was open and he walked in, as he had done many times before, and went through the house until he managed to find Sidney on the back, sitting on a backyard bench he brought years ago. “Hello,” Zhenya said, his hand on the back of the bench, and Sidney looked up. To his eyes, he looked wrecked: even when his hair was short, he hasn’t shaved his playoff beard, and he looked like he haven’t sleep in days.

Yet, the smile that shot to Zhenya was warm and welcoming, which made him smile back.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he answered while making a gesture, inviting Zhenya to sit next to him. “You?”

“I’m good, too, Sid.” Sidney hummed at the answer and sat sideways, looking at Zhenya.

“I’m sorry.” The apology made Zhenya shot his eyebrows up and then frown, confused. He didn’t need to say anything before Sidney understood the question popping on his mind. “For this season. We barely talked. I was closing down on myself, again. I started thinking too much.” He mumbled the last part. “With Duper’s injury and the staff changing, you know, it was weird. It was also the first proper season that I didn’t have her and–”

Sidney took a deep breath, his hand going to his wrist but not looking at it. Zhenya noticed that the wristband wasn’t there.

“I know,” Zhenya said, wanting Sidney to understand that, once again, it wasn’t his fault. It was both of them, to be honest. He nodded and smiled, mostly to himself. “It’s okay.”

“I missed you,” Sidney said and, once again, caught Zhenya by surprise. Not so much by Sidney’s warm words but the feeling that he got when his captain spoke. They stared at each other, both of them with soft smiles on their faces. “This season was hard, not only for me but for the team, probably for you, too. You know I take seriously what we do, but I feel I didn’t do enough for the team, for _you_.”

Sidney paused for a moment and was about to say something else when Zhenya pressed his lips against his, his hand finding himself on Sidney’s nape, the tip of his fingers cold and brushing Sidney’s pale but warm skin.

Truth to be told, Sidney wasn’t expecting that but he melted into it. It was as if Zhenya knew what he was trying to say, as if the apology was only the prologue of a long speech Sidney had written down about how he believes on soulmates but he didn’t need a name on his wrist to be able to fall in love.

Since that was the truth, that he was falling for someone who wasn’t his soulmate.

Zhenya knew what he was trying to say so he just jumped onto the epilogue.

It was Zhenya who had to break the kiss because Sidney was smiling way too wide for him to properly kiss him, his fingers tangling on his hair, mumbling something about staying still but Sidney couldn’t. He was too busy trying to keep his heart on his chest. They looked at each other, their eyes half open, full on love.

It was as if the world just had stopped right in that second.

“I meant it, what I said in the summer” Sidney said, his voice calm. Zhenya looked at him, his fingers playing with his short hair, and nodded. He knew Sidney will always love Ava, but that didn’t mean he could learn to love someone else. Zhenya pressed his forehead against Sidney’s, their noses pressing against each other.

“I mean it, too, Sid. I’m never lie to you.”

Sidney smiled, before giving him a soft peck. “Come home early? Before camp.”

“Ok,” Zhenya answered, smiling at the word home. “Before camp.”

Holding his word, Zhenya returned earlier than supposed to.

His mother noticed something on him as soon as he stepped into their house, because he was returning home early after losing but he looked as if he just won the cup. He didn’t mention Sidney, but said that he found someone, which made her smile eye to eye.

Summer was calm, calmer than it had been years before. It wasn’t like he was trying to shake off the season, more like embracing it, trying to learn from his mistakes. Anna told him that he looked wiser, but still stupid in some ways, and Zhenya laughed: she always said the truth. He told her about Sidney and she smiled, saying that it was about time.

Returning to Pittsburgh actually felt like returning home, and Sidney was already there, waiting for him.

Those days previous to the start of the training camp, they did nothing and it was blissful. They talked, they took turns on which house they will stay over, they kissed, they exercised together, they explored each other’s minds and hearts, they shared clothes, and it was the most gratifying days in Zhenya’s life. They didn’t wear their wristbands, didn’t hide their pasts.

He felt good, Sidney was good, and everything seemed perfect.

There must be some weird pattern on his life, where everything builds up and suddenly comes down.

Both of them were lying in bed, late in the afternoon, enjoying one of their last lazy days –even though they went for a long jog early morning and exercised until noon. Zhenya had Sidney lying next to him, his head on his chest, his hair brushing lighting his jaw.

“What if the blurry dreams we have are from our other lives?” Sidney asked, quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. Zhenya only hummed. “It would make sense.”

“Don’t know, Sid. Maybe.” They were in silence for a moment and Zhenya’s hand found Sidney’s and lifted it up, observing for what it felt like the first time, Sidney’s soulmate strikethrough. “What you think, Ava Dunn?” he asked aloud, his thumb caressing the mark.

There was a soft chuckle that became a gasp and Sidney’s body was suddenly tense under him but, before Zhenya could say anything else, his captain was sitting down and staring at him with wide eyes, his breathing irregular. Zhenya sat up quickly next to him, hands hovering over his body, the “Sid?” coming out of his lips with worry.

His eyes were wild, looking around the room before falling on Zhenya’s face. “Dunn?”

Zhenya noticed his mistake way too late.

“That’s her name, I know it.” Sidney got up from the bed, hugging himself, shaking. He looked at Zhenya, straight in the eyes, and asked him: “How do you know her name?”

They were in silence, looking at each other. Zhenya noticed Sidney’s eyes looking wetter but he kept blinking, fighting the tears. Once again, Zhenya’s mouth failed him and the truth slipped out of his tongue as easy as the _я_ _люблю_ _тебя_ that he said to his mother that summer: he told him that Flower sent it to him, that he knew since the incident, told him what was written, how she died, that Mario also knew, that–

“Sorry, I just–,” Sidney said, before sniffling. He didn’t dare to look at Zhenya, eyes fixed in some spot on the floor. He pressed his hand against his face and nodded. “I’ll see you at camp, sorry.”

Sidney took his shoes and left, the front door opening and closing.

Zhenya just went back lying on the bed, wondering if the universe would do him a favor and kill him already.

The tension was there, in the camp and after it, and everyone could feel it.

The new guys could feel it –Kessel, Bonino, and Cullen, but didn’t say anything, probably because there wasn’t so much trust with their new team.

Johnston probably felt it, since he had called Sidney to his office more than once, but didn’t say anything straight to the team. Neither did Flower, Tanger, nor Duper. There were some rumors going around calling the tension the “Cold War”, which Geno didn’t find funny, but the media did whatever the fuck they wanted.

That was around the time were the media started writing about Sidney Crosby, the best player in the world, starting to be a burning star, fading away. It was true that the team wasn’t doing its best: on the pre-season they lost five of eight games, and the season didn’t look so much better.

Everything was starting to weight down on Sidney and Zhenya could see it.

He wanted to come to his house, to his hotel room; he wanted to sent texts, or call him, tell him that everything would be alright, that he was sorry, that he wanted to fall in love with Sidney –if he hasn’t fallen by this point, but he wanted to comfort him. What stopped him was that when Sidney looked at him, Zhenya saw hurt on his eyes, on his face, on his expression –and it wasn’t only to him: it was there when looking at Flower, or Mario.

The tension grew more when, while they were on a roadie, Duper mentioned offhandedly that he was retiring. Zhenya would always remember the look on everybody’s faces, and it wasn’t because they were surprised, but mostly of worry, knowing that _that_ wasn’t an easy thing.

It was December 8th when Duper officially said it.

That same day, they interviewed Sidney, the red wall making seem his features sharper, more beaten up. Zhenya was walking up to the visitor’s equipment room when he heard the last question, and Sidney’s voice breaking, leaving an awkward feeling in the air.

The next night they won, and it wasn’t because of sheer luck.

_Are you okay?_

Zhenya sent the text early morning, just as he was going to sleep. He didn’t wait for the answer, quickly falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Well, he wasn’t really expecting an answer.

He didn’t get one.

(Even though Sidney looked at the text for over a minute, his fingers typing and deleting lies. At the end, he didn’t send anything and went to sleep.

His dreams were full of skates on the ice and a laugh, a laugh that he somehow recognized.)

On the 12th, the news that Johnston was fired hit the team as a typhoon.

It wasn’t the news itself what shook the team, but Mike _fucking_ Sullivan.

He was loud and, even when they only had a few practices to get to know each other and figure out the strategy, he knew what he wanted already. The team was willing to do what he wanted, if that meant working ten times harder, if that meant _winning_. Sullivan obviously noticed the strange tension on the air and pulled Sidney aside, when he noticed that it was coming from him. The discussion could be heard from the locker room, it was loud and furious, and Zhenya wondered what was really happening behind the door that muffled the words.

They lost their first four games and won the next two after that.

It was good, a slow transition, and, for the first time in _years_ , Zhenya heard the _this is our year_ chant returning, with a different feel, with a different meaning, everything was good.

Somehow, the team decided to celebrate out in a bar in St. Paul after the game, and managed to bring Sidney along. Zhenya was surprised that he was sitting between Tanger and Flower and he wondered if Sid was starting to forgive them; he also wondered if they apologized, something that Zhenya wanted to do but didn’t know how to do, or _when_.

Some of the younger guys were talking to some girls and having fun at the bar when Sidney announced that he was leaving. Flower made a sad noise and tried to convince him to stay a few more minutes.

“I’ll go with you.”

Zhenya realized that those words came out of his mouth when the team sitting at the table looked at him, including Sidney. He cleared his throat and before he could say anything else, Sidney replied with a soft “ok, c’mon then” that took him unprepared.

The walk wasn’t long so Zhenya knew that he had to say something sooner than later. 

“Tanger and Mario apologized already.” Zhenya almost tripped on the sidewalk and looked at Sidney with a confused face before his captain laughed gently under his breath. “You have that expression as if you were trying to figure out how to say something. You usually get it when you forget a word.”

Zhenya paused for a moment before speaking. “I’m very sorry.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he stopped him, his arm on Sid’s bicep. Sidney had his hands on his coat’s pockets and he was looking at him with a soft expression. “I’m sorry for not telling about Ava, I didn’t want to upset you.”

“G,” Sid said, his other hand going and resting on top of Zhenya’s. “I know. It’s alright.”

“Yeah?” He asked confused.

“I mean, you apologized and I accept your apology. I think it’s a start,” he said, looking at Zhenya as if he was waiting for him to say something. “We’ll be fine?”

“Yeah, Sid,” he said, stepping away and putting his own hands on his coat’s pockets. “Thank you.”

Zhenya would be lying if he didn’t say that every step he took to the hotel felt as if he was floating: knowing that they managed to be in good terms it made his heart lighter. They were talking the whole way, not exactly like before but it was nice, it felt nice, and Zhenya was happy just knowing that it was a step in the good direction.

Sidney said something that made him laugh and he said something back, making Sidney laugh. A laugh that was bright and full of life, and Zhenya had to stop walking because he had heard that before. Yet, it wasn’t a memory of his years with Sidney but it came from even before they met. He remembered hearing that laugh weeks after Valya died, when the blurred dreams came by his head and took over. He wondered–

“Do you think that,” he stopped himself, wondering if he should say something. “The blurred memories.”

“What about them?” Sidney asked, stopping on the sidewalk, a few feet ahead.

“Do you think it can be… uh, one way love with soulmates?”

“Unrequited? Do you think the memories are from a soulmate that his feelings go unrequited?” There was a confused expression on his face, as if he was thinking it through. “I don’t know.”

They kept walking and, not a few streets over, was their hotel.

 

-

 

Soon after that conversation, there was a shift.

In the team, in their friendship, and Zhenya wished that they would go back to the days before camp, but he was more than happy to have Sidney talking to him, so he wouldn’t push this. Yet, after that conversation, the thought of unrequited soulmates was lurking on his mind more often than not. Some nights he would get those blurry memories and he would write them down: he dreamt about people asking questions that he never heard the answers to, a blue and red jersey on tiny hands, and laughter, that was not only similar to Sidney’s but it sounded like Taylor’s too, remembering the few moments he had gotten to hang out with her while she was in town.

Knowing that, possibly, Sidney was his soulmate hurt him. There was still a guilt buried deep inside him after Ava died, even though he didn’t do anything, it wasn’t his fault, that was how the universe wanted it.

They were on the hotel after they lost a game against Chicago when he sat down on his bed, phone in hand. He wrote and deleted the word over ten times, not because he wrote it wrong, but because he wasn’t sure if he was ready to read what the internet had to say.

 **SEARCH** : _unrequited soulmates_

 _Blurred, hazy, or unclear memories– memories from childhood and their early lives_ – _don’t have soulmate marks but would develop if_ – _most unrequited soulmates meet in their lifetime but realize_ –

Zhenya felt queasy.

After all those years wondering and wishing that Sidney would be his soulmate, knowing that there was a possibility, it made him feel queasy because maybe it was meant to be, for them to met, for their soulmates to die so young, for them to try this and to break up and–

“Geno?” Zhenya didn’t exactly realize when he got up and out of his room, only to knock on Sidney’s, with his phone in hand. “Hey, are you okay?”

Rusty was looking up at him, frown on his face. “I need to talk to Sid.” He nodded before going into the room and getting Sidney, who had the same frown as Rusty. He had his key card in hand and closed the door behind him.

“What’s wrong? You look pale.” Before Sidney could say anything else, Zhenya pressed his phone on Sidney’s hand, looking at him in silence. The frown on his face went from concern to confused and his eyes went from looking at Zhenya and back to the phone on his hand. “Yeah, okay,” Sidney stood there, almost petrified. He looked around the hall before meeting Zhenya’s eyes. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight?” Zhenya asked, confused himself. 

“Yeah, I mean, what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, Sid, maybe talk?” His tone wasn’t exactly friendly but more exasperated than he expected it, but it was how he was feeling: Sidney just wanted to walk away from this as if this was nothing. They had been something, Zhenya wanted to be something again, and Sidney wanted to ignore it?

“Uh, no, _no_ ,” he shook his head. His eyes met Zhenya’s and for a moment, Zhenya didn’t know what to say but his mouth was already saying the words before he could even process it: the _I love you_ was smooth and it lingered on the air a few more seconds that any other words would. They stood there before Sidney pressed his phone into his hand and hesitated before walking into his hotel room, without saying anything in response.

Zhenya stood there before walking into his own and he wondered if maybe Sidney wasn’t true to his word about wanting to be his soulmate.

 

-

 

Zhenya woke up on fire.

Or at least, feeling like he was on fire, as if the hotel room in Montreal had suddenly burst in flames. He rolled onto his side, hissing at the sudden pain. He wasn’t sure what was happening, and through the haze on his brain, he was trying to figure out what was happening to him. His mind went back to the Chicago game a few nights before and to this one, but he couldn’t really exactly pick up why he was feeling this way.

Zhenya wondered if this was it, if he was dying and wondered if Sidney would feel it.

(If he would feel it again, because maybe one soulmate dying didn’t seem enough for the universe.)

There was a knocking on the door and struggled to get up and get it, stumbling on his own feet. When he opened the door, he wasn’t really expecting to find Sheary and Stewart standing in front of him, both with wild looks on their faces.

Zhenya frowned and was about to ask what was happening but Stewart pushed him inside and sat him on the bed. Sheary left the door behind him open, the light from the hall shining onto the room, but he moved to turn on the night stand lamp.

“Evgeni, look at me,” Stewart said and Zhenya felt his hands on his jaw, holding him up. “You’re burning.”

“It’s him?” Sheary asked and Zhenya frowned, tried to look at him but the trainer held him still.

“Who’s your soulmate?” He asked and if it was humanly possible, Zhenya’s frown would be more frowny and confused. He could see that it was Valya written on his wrist, why did he ask? “Evgeni, who’s your soulmate?”

“Valya,” he answered truthfully.

“Can I look at your wrist?” Zhenya nodded and felt Stewart holding both of his wrists, looking at them intensely before looking at the player again. “Why is there another one?”

Zhenya felt his heart beating faster than before, now not only because of the sudden pounding on his door but the small but strange S, besides an _i_ , along other letters that seemed to be forming under his skin. It was something that seemed taken out of a sci-fi movie, something that seemed almost not possible.

“Is it Sidney?” Stewart asked and Zhenya looked at the mark before mumbling something that confirmed that it could be possible –even when at heart he knew that it was possible, but what was happening?

“Is he okay?” Zhenya asked before he felt both Sheary and Stewart helping him stand up, and he noticed he was trembling. “Sidney?”

When they managed to get out of the room, Sullivan and Tocchet were standing side by side besides a man who seemed to be the hotel manager, who looked up when they walked past them. There were a few heads poking out from the other doors, and Zhenya swore he saw Pooh with an arm wrapped around Olli, both of them looking at the end of the hall. 

And exactly where they were looking at was where Sheary and Sidney’s room was, at the end of the hall, with the door half open.

Stewart pushed it and they came in. Zhenya wasn’t really expecting to found this.

Sidney was lying on his side, sweating profusely and holding onto the sheets as if he was in pain. Flower was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand caressing Sidney’s hair, pushing it aside. Tanger was standing on the other side, as if he wasn’t sure what to do to help.

“It’s him,” Stewart announced their entrance. “Move aside, Marc.”

Flower looked at him with a strange look but moved aside. Zhenya almost felt himself fall where Flower was sitting and took Sidney’s hand, observing his wrist: there were Cyrillic letters being sewn onto the pale skin, forming his name slowly, just as he had been dreaming for a long time.

“Sid,” he called, his fingers finding Sidney’s sweaty hair, tangling on the curls as he did many times before.

It took a while before his eyes flustered open, glassy from the fever, but he managed to wake up. He observed Zhenya before his eyes flew around the room, seeing Stewart standing on the foot of the bed. “You’re fighting your soulmate, Sidney,” he said and Zhenya moved his hand from Sidney’s hair to his shoulder, wandering over his arm and finding his hand. “You’re basically fighting the destiny.”

Zhenya and Sidney looked at each other in silence, before they heard Stewart stepping aside.

“You fight me?” Zhenya asked, and it came out almost broken. Sidney curled onto himself even more, his face hiding on a soaked pillow. “Sid…”

“I’m sorry,” he said back and he sounded as if he was about to cry. He continued; his voice was low and close to being a whisper. “I want you but, I-I’m scared.”

He moved closer, his grip tightening. “Scared? Why?”

“What if you die too?” The words were almost sharp. “I don’t want to love you and then you die on an accident, on the ice, I don’t know. I just, I don’t want to lose you.”

And maybe it made sense, in a weird-Crosby-way of making sense.

(Since that night in St. Paul’s, Sidney did wonder if Geno was his unrequited soulmate.

He recognized in his dreams some Russian sounding words, a laugh that was deep and some blurry hockey passes that were intertwined with Ava’s own skating lessons.

He wasn’t exactly lying when he told Zhenya that he wished he was his soulmate –even when the words escaped his mouth and made him feel guilty when he caught Ava’s soulmate mark on the corner of his eye. He spent a few minutes talking to Ava, telling her what he was feeling. It was probably weird but therapeutic at the same time. Sidney wanted to try to date Geno; he really wanted to spend his life with this man, who was such a constant in his life.

At that time, he didn’t even wonder if they were soulmates and that made everything easy.

When he discovered that Geno knew about Ava, that he had read about her death and that Mario, and half of their teammates knew was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water onto him. He remembered that he didn’t return home but drove to Washington, ignoring his phone. He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to find her but he stood in front of her grave, a bouquet of poppies on his hand –he knew those were her favorites.

Geno finally apologized and it actually felt good, he was happy Geno had said something so he wouldn’t sulk anymore.

Sidney wasn’t exactly sure if he could forgive him soon, but maybe eventually.

When Geno pressed the phone onto his hand that night in Chicago and he read about the unrequited soulmates, he wondered if the universe hated him. He loved Ava and she died before meeting each other, what if the universe hated him and did it otherwise? What if met Geno, found out that he’s his soulmate and managed to kill him too?

Sidney wasn’t sure if he would survive another soulmate dying.

More so if that soulmate was Geno.

So he lied to himself, mumbling under his breath that he didn’t love Geno, that over the years and the ups and downs he didn’t manage to develop feelings for him, that he didn’t want the gentle russian to be with him on every step of his life, that he didn’t want to win another cup and share it with him, that he didn’t want to share kisses and clothes, a house, a life; Sidney didn’t want anything with Geno.

Sidney has always been a bad liar.)

Zhenya pushed him and moved so he would be lying beside Sidney, his arms around him as they had done before. It felt so natural and easy, as if they never stopped doing it on the first place. He buried his nose on Sidney’s damp hair, while Sidney’s fingers found Zhenya’s shirt and held tight. “We’ll be fine but, if I die while I’m your soulmate, I’ll die happy.” He hummed. “Let’s be happy, Sid.”

Sidney wasn’t sure why he was crying but he nodded, curling closer to his soulmate.

Zhenya felt fire, but this time it was coming from a much deeper place.

 

-

 

The goals were buried on the net strongly, the celebrations were more joyful that they usually were, the chant of the crowd was loud and the chant on the bench was mantra-like.

Zhenya had his eyes on the clock and just as soon as it started ticking, his eyes shifted onto the ice and found Sidney just as soon as the bench started yelling. When the clock ticked to zero, he could see everyone jumping up and down, throwing their gloves and their helmets, screaming and launching themselves onto Muzz. His feet hit the ice and he did the same, not hearing anything besides his own yelling.

They just won the Stanley Cup.

Maybe it wasn’t at home, maybe it was on the other coast of the States, and the crowd wasn’t exactly happy for them. But there they were, proving everyone wrong –proving that they were still a contender, that their team still had the best players on the game.

He yelled louder when Sidney lifted the cup, remembering their late conversation about what would happen if they won. “I never understand what Bettman says, you’re just riding high when you get close to the cup, you know?” Zhenya laughed, mumbling a _bad player, not pay attention._

It felt amazing.

It was only a few days later when they managed to find themselves on their bed, lying next to each other after a long celebration. Zhenya’s fingers danced across Sidney, who was snoring softly, remembering how not a few years ago he was riddled with bruises from Ava’s accident, and now he managed to share him with her.

Valya was still there, on his wrist, strikethrough. There was still guilt on his chest, every so often bubbling up and disappearing, as if it was a volcano trying to explode but never doing so. He looked at his other wrist and saw Sidney’s handwritten name there, just as he imagined so many times.

He observed his own name on Sidney’s wrist and he smiled.

Zhenya couldn’t really be upset. The words of the family doctor echoed on his mind.

“ _These things happen. That’s how the universe wanted it to be_.”

“What are you laughing at?” He looked at Sidney, who was looking at him with only an eye open, and Zhenya just smiled, his fingers finding Sidney’s nape and pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Nothing, go back to sleep, Sid.”

Soulmates are really inexplicable.

The name tattooed on the wrist will be something that will accompany you from birth until death. In other cases, they will appear when the other soulmate is born, or multiple ones will appear, or some people won’t have any.

They never fade.

Yet, that doesn’t stop other ones from appearing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. i read that Valya is an unisex nickname, maybe that's their name and not nickname, let's leave it like that and not have this discussion.  
> 2\. the italic sometimes signifies russian talking.  
> 3\. injuries??? what injured players????  
> 4\. basic russian brought you by the internet: _Позвони мне_ means call me, _спасибо_ means thank you, and _привет_ is hi (pretty informal), _Очень умно_ means very intelligent, and _я люблю тебя_ is i love you.  
>  5\. english is not my mother language, so if fucked something, please tell me, seriously.  
> 6\. there's probably a lot of loopholes but hey, hey
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!!!


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